Maneater
by In a World of My Own
Summary: I never imagined I might witness a violent crime - least of all that it would be against anyone I knew. I wouldn't have known then where it would lead me. How could I? I barely spoke to the man I sat in that room with. I imagine even then he had plans for me. I was always going to wind up at his table and somehow... I think he knew it. HannibalXOC
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, I know I have several stories going already, but come onnnnnn. It's Hannibal. I couldn't resist! I've been writing on this for a while and it was mostly for my sister and my friend (and of course my enjoyment), but I'd like to share it. Now I wouldn't exactly call what I have planned romance, necessarily. You'll see and I think you'll all enjoy it. So short bio, name is Keeran Lovett, age 25, 5'9", blue-green eyes, dark brown hair. Now read on!**

* * *

My heels clicked softly on the cement as I strolled down the sidewalk. I glanced down at the glistening casserole dishes in my arms. I didn't see my grandmother very often, so when she asked a favor of me I had been quick to oblige. I was beginning to wish that I had either worn different shoes or taken the initiate to drive down the block. My feet didn't wear heels well, particularly not when a lot of walking was involved. I didn't have the arches for it. I squinted in the sunlight, shifting the weight of the increasingly heavy glass. I hadn't seen the Hobbs family since I had just begun to hit puberty, so I wasn't entirely sure that they would recognize me. A lot had changed in fifteen years [the Mohawk, piercings, and tattoos being some of the visible changes]. Still, I had been a babysitter to their daughter Abigail for an entire summer, so maybe my face had stuck enough.

A familiar porch was slowly drawing closer. I felt anxious and I couldn't explain why. They weren't complete strangers, though I supposed that with the amount of time that had passed they might as well have been. I turned into the driveway and took a deep breath to calm myself as I marched up the walkway. I rehearsed in my head how I would greet them, how I might refresh their memories of my existence. I nodded once, feeling quite sure of myself. I had barely taken a step across the porch when the front door opened. I smiled instinctively, assuming someone had either heard me coming or that someone was about to head out the door anyway. Mrs. Hobbs staggered out the door clutching her throat. My smile cracked and fell away. I saw the blood covering her body, but it didn't click in my head right away. I dropped the casserole dishes I was holding to cover my mouth with my hands. They hit the porch and shattered from the force. Mrs. Hobbs reached out a bloody hand to me. I didn't know what to do.

I shrugged out of my cardigan as quickly as I could and pressed it against her neck. I tried my very hardest not to look too long at the gaping slash beforehand. My stomach was doing somersaults, the taste of bile lingering at the back of my throat. She was making strangled gurgles and gasps for air. I pressed harder, panic shooting through my veins. Her hands fluttered helplessly, clutching at my forearms. She opened and closed her mouth a few times like she was trying to say something. I shook my head, floundering for something – anything – to say. The choking suddenly ceased, her hands slowing in their frantic movements before stopping all together. I froze, cradling Mrs. Hobbs in my lap. I inhaled sharply as I gazed down at her expressionless face. I could see the life leaving her eyes, a cold feeling settling into my chest. What the hell was going on in there? I looked around myself, trying to gather my thoughts. They felt as scattered as the hunks of broken glass. I carefully pushed myself to my feet and approached the front door. I stood there staring at it for a long while. My shaking hand was hovering over the doorknob. I was debating with myself whether or not I should check to see if everyone else was okay or if I should just run for help. I didn't have my cell phone with me. I didn't think I'd need it. The longer I stood there with my back to her lifeless corpse, the more time I had to picture something happening to Abigail and Mr. Hobbs because I had stood outside the front door taking too long to make a damn decision.

I swallowed hard and closed my hand around the knob. I was a little surprised, for some reason, to find that it wasn't locked. I pushed the door open and looked around the hallway. A trail of blood led away from the front door. I stepped in, looking at the pictures decorating the walls. It felt like I was seeing ghosts. I could hear Abigail giggling and running through the house, smell the grill going out back… I could even taste the tartness of the lemonade Mrs. Hobbs made for us all summer.

"Abigail?" I called out reluctantly. I hated to make my presence known, but if I could distract away from her I would. "Mr. Hobbs? It's Keeran. What's going on? Is anyone else hurt?"

In the silence that ensued, I heard muffled sobbing. I swiftly followed the faint sound of it into the kitchen. I wasn't sure what to expect, but seeing Mr. Hobbs with a knife to his daughter's throat was definitely so far from my mind that for a few seconds it didn't even register. I blinked in surprise and raised my hands submissively, taking a step back. The look in his eyes was what terrified me most. He looked crazed – a man who had run out of options; and that meant he was dangerous and unpredictable. I exhaled slowly. They really don't prepare you to deal with these kinds of situations in life. I felt like anything I had to say wasn't going to do. I tried to force a smile, but I wasn't too convinced that it came out right.

"Hi, Mr. Hobbs," I said in a conversational tone. "Do you remember me?" His wide, animal eyes passed over me for a few seconds before he shook his head and took a step back, pulling Abigail with him. "I-I'm Barbara's granddaughter? I babysat for you one summer back when I was maybe thirteen or fourteen?"

He nodded, seemingly recollecting. "You shouldn't have come here."

I heard someone on the porch, and footsteps in the hall a moment later.

"Garrett Jacob Hobbs?" a man's voice called out. "FBI."

Mr. Hobbs looked from the entry to the hallway, to me, and back again. Abigail looked at me with tears in her eyes. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, but my tongue suddenly seemed made of lead. I felt powerless. A few seconds later a man came around the corner, gun raised and pointed at Mr. Hobbs. The two stared each other down for several long seconds. I saw Mr. Hobbs' arm tense and knew what he was going to do before he had quite moved. I gasped and reached a hand out to Abigail like that would help her, shield her in some way. Mr. Hobbs slashed upward at the same instant the man beside me shot him. I jumped, my ears ringing. Abigail collapsed, a spray of red painting the kitchen in her wake. I couldn't help the horrified cry that escaped my body. When Mr. Hobbs didn't go down with the first shot, the man shot him again – and again and again. I counted eight shots all together. It all happened so quickly. Mr. Hobbs collapsed against the counters and hit the floor. The man beside me ran to Abigail's side, trying to stem the flow of blood gushing from her neck just like her mother's. I stood there, petrified, looking down at my shaking, blood covered hands. For a moment I couldn't hear anything but the blood rushing in my ears and a faint continuous ringing. I felt like I was going to be sick or pass out; maybe both. I could feel the small spasm of one of the minor muscles in my left forearm.

_Not now_, I begged. _Not here_. I closed my eyes to focus on steadying my breathing – I was about to start hyperventilating. With the absence of imagery, the noises of my surroundings came slamming back. Abigail was making wet-sounding gasps for air. I pictured her mother on the front porch frantically clinging to my arms, the look of terror in her eyes before it fled, her blood staining the wood she had taken such good care of over the years. There was movement in the room. Abigail sounded just as scared. I wondered if she was going to die, too. I'd left my cardigan on the front porch.

Once I had counted to six in my head and taken the number of deep, slow breaths to match, I opened my eyes. A new man was in the room; one hand was clasped securely around Abigail's throat, the other supported her head. The first man looked just as scatter brained as I must – maybe more. I looked back down at my still shaking hands feeling a little dazed. On the bright side, it seemed as though I had successfully managed to detach myself from the situation. I had a strong urge to walk straight home and go right to bed. Instead, I pulled up a chair and started taking off my shoes. I wanted to go to Abigail and quite frankly I didn't want to break my ankle slipping or worse, fall right on top of the poor girl. The two men in the room looked up at me curiously as I sat there muttering to myself.

"I really did love this dress," I said quietly. It was a vintage style pinup dress – white with a large black floral pattern and a black mesh petticoat underneath. Naturally, the dress was more red than white at the moment. "Maybe I can salvage it… I wonder how the drycleaner would feel about cleaning it…"

I shook my head and stood up, setting my shoes neatly by the chair. I pushed a few stray strands of hair back out of my face and rubbed my temples. Granted I was probably rubbing blood all over my face, I just couldn't bring myself to care about that at the moment. I looked down at Abigail for a few seconds, wiggling my toes against the cold tile. I hadn't seen her since she was just a child. Seeing her choking on her own blood like this was mortifying. I crossed to her side, biting my tongue at the squelch beneath my bare feet. I told myself to pretend someone had spilled paint. It seemed to work pretty well, other than the heavy metallic scent in the air. I tucked my dress under myself as I kneeled on the floor and sat back on my feet. She looked up at me, but I wasn't sure if she was actually seeing me. I forced another smile and took her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

"Who are you?"

I looked up at the man I hoped was saving Abigail's life. Goodness he was a pretty little thing. The accent didn't hurt. His dark blonde hair was parted and in place perfectly. Though his expression remained relatively blank, his honey brown eyes shone with a dazzling wit as they probed mine. The question itself was innocent enough, but I sensed a slight hostility in the way he observed me. I swallowed hard and averted my gaze.

"Keeran Lovett," I replied in what I hoped was an even tone. He waited a moment as though he expected me to offer more information than that. When I didn't he continued.

"And what were you doing here?"

I looked at his hands rather than focus on his face or hers. He had lovely hands, too, so it really wouldn't have been a much better option if it weren't for all the blood.

"My grandmother is a friend of the family. She lives right down the street. She asked me to return some Pyrex dishes to Mrs. Hobbs. I dropped them, obviously. That's why there's glass all over the front porch." I glanced down at myself and then back to Abigail with a frail smile. "Christ, she'll have a heart attack if she sees us like this, won't she?"

I listened to the sirens wailing in the distance, growing louder as they drew closer and closer. I glanced up at movement. The first man was wiping his blood-soaked hands on his jeans. I had the distinct impression that his mind wasn't really present at the moment, if his glazed eyes and vacant expression were any indication. My eyes fell on Mr. Hobbs – all the bullet holes in his chest slowly oozing blood, the same empty look in his eyes I had seen in his wife's. Abigail had just lost both of her parents in under ten minutes. I blinked hard, frowning down at my hands. What was going to happen to her after this? Sure she was old enough to live on her own, but… Jesus, would she be okay to? I watched the fingers expertly controlling the blood attempting to spurt from Abigail's neck for a few minutes longer before I shifted my gaze to his face. I bit my tongue, gathering the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry ahead of time if this sounds rude," I started off cautiously, "but do you mind my asking who _you_ are?"

His lips twitched slightly, offering a momentary wry smile. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter. William Graham is working with the FBI."

He nodded to the first man who had entered the room. I glanced over at him and nodded my understanding. Will still looked like he was in a bit of shock. Understandably, he had just shot a man. I tried not to look back at Mr. Hobbs, though my curiosity was eating away at me. _Why was the FBI showing up at their house?_ I closed my eyes to avoid it, as well as saving myself the discomfort of finding a suitable location to rest my gaze. As I stroked the back of her hand, I quietly hummed Hushabye Mountain to her. It was the only comfort I could think to offer, though I wasn't entirely sure it wasn't more for my benefit than for hers. I rocked back and forth, getting lost in the rhythm. Several long minutes passed with her choking and my humming before the paramedics began to arrive. They quickly filled the kitchen, taking over any free space left. I apologized for being in the way and excused myself, moving to retrieve my shoes. I watched them patch her up as best as they could on the spot before putting her on a stretcher to wheel her out. I brushed along, making my way toward the front door. I paused in the doorway to slip my bloody feet back into my shoes. I tread carefully across the chunks of glass, keeping my gaze straight ahead so I wouldn't be tempted to look down at Mrs. Hobbs again. I was edging my way around the gruesome scene keeping my eyes on the ceiling instead when I took notice of a hand being held out to me.

I looked down at Dr. Lecter, offering me one of his miraculously clean hands [how he had managed to do so that quickly was beyond me]. I smiled grimly and thanked him, hesitantly slipping my fingers within his grasp. He helped me pass over the glass in a few hopping steps and without incident, for which I was very grateful. His eyes locked with mine, holding my gaze for several long seconds. Though again his expression gave nothing away, I got the distinct impression that he was sizing me up, trying to tell if I was lying about anything or not. I don't know why he thought I might have anything to hide. His gaze though brief was intense enough to make me blush. As soon as he released my hand, I looked away and shook my head. Still a bit dazed, I followed the EMT's toward the ambulance. A man who looked to be in his late forties intercepted me almost immediately. Judging by the suit, I guessed he was either with the police or the FBI. I pursed my lips and impatiently watched them load Abigail into the ambulance. Dr. Lecter joined her, glancing at me one last time before the doors closed. I sighed in defeat, feeling the great urge to simply drag both my hands down my face, go home, and take a long, steamy shower.

"Jack Crawford," he said, instinctively reaching his hand out before retracting it awkwardly once he thought better of it. "Miss Lovett, is it?" I nodded. "I'm with the FBI, head of the department. I understand this may not be a good time, but I need you to come in for questioning."

I looked frantically from my red hands to anything I could clean them on. I gave a frustrated growl and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I could feel the pounding of my heart all the way up in my throat, choking me, the blood rushing through my veins, what felt like every nerve ending firing in my brain at the same time. It took a few seconds for me to collect my thoughts again.

"What for? Are you arresting me?"

His gaze was steely, calculating. "Not yet. However, you have managed to find yourself in the middle of a crime scene covered with the blood of one of the victims. I understand that you were in this state before my men arrived. Only Abigail Hobbs can corroborate what really happened and at this point it's not a guarantee that she is going to live to do so."

I blinked at his bluntness and lack of tact. I clenched my jaw, giving him the benefit of the doubt. He didn't know that I was acquainted with the family. From the sound of it, maybe it was best that way. I looked down, rubbing my hands together. "So you're temporarily taking away my freedom for the sake of your investigation, is that what this is?" I looked back up at him when he didn't respond. I shook my head. "Where do I have to go?"

"Our base is located in Quantico, Virginia. We'll provide your transportation."

"Are you kidding? What about my car? My luggage? I don't live here, you know. I'm just visiting."

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but I'm afraid I must insist. We'll make arrangements for your belongings."

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "And my grandma? What are you going to tell her? Jesus, she's… She must be worried. I was only planning to be gone a few minutes."

"We'll be as delicate as possible, I assure you."

I looked around, chewing my lip. There really was no way around this, was there? I growled and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Fine. Do I at least get to shower?"

He smiled tautly. "Once we get samples of the blood off your body we can get you cleaned up. Unfortunately, your clothing will be confiscated as evidence."

I laughed dryly and shook my head. "Of course it will. Let's get this going then, I suppose."

He nodded. "We'll get that all sorted out."

He held his arm out in a sweeping motion, gesturing to the black SUV behind him. I sighed and shuffled for the back door. Someone standing nearby opened it for me. Touching as few things as possible, I stepped up and slid into the leather seat. I closed my eyes and focused on staying as calm as I could while I waited patiently for Mr. Crawford. It was less than easy to ignore the gating between my seat and his, but at least he hadn't put me in handcuffs. I wasn't under arrest, I supposed, so there wasn't exactly a reason for him to. Still, just being in the back of a cruiser like this made me nervous. We drove for a short while. I wasn't sure if he intended to drive the whole way. I tried to shrug it off and not care. When I heard the sound of a helicopter, I sat up a little straighter. I'd never flown in one before. Sure enough, we drew closer and closer until we were just a short distance away from the helipad. Mr. Crawford looked back at me.

"Someone will be accompanying you on the trip," he said over the noise as he opened his door. "I'll be meeting you there for questioning. I have business to take care of here beforehand."

He opened my door for me, as I assumed it wouldn't open from within. I slid out, cradling my arms to my chest. I didn't want to touch anything. Once I was out, Mr. Crawford held up a pair of handcuffs with an empathetic look.

"I'm sorry to have to do this," he continued. "It's just a precaution."

I looked from them to him and set my jaw. I didn't have anything more to say. I held out my hands willingly. No need to make this any more unpleasant than it already was. He apologized again, fastening the cool metal around my wrists. At least he didn't make them too tight. He led me to the helicopter and spoke for a moment to the pilot as the agent beside me fastened my seatbelt. He shut the door and I closed my eyes as we shakily lifted off the ground. I exhaled slowly, trying to make myself comfortable for what would undoubtedly be a very long flight.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hannibal**_

_He heard the gunshot from the front yard, a pleased grin spreading across his face. He took his time moving up the porch, pausing to look down at the woman lying in a pool of blood and broken glass. He looked at the pictures on the walls as he walked down the hallway, exploring the faces behind the glass. He very clearly recalled only one child in the photographs, so it was a bit of a shock to see two more women in the room. Will was doing a clumsy job of stemming the blood flow from a slash on the throat of the young girl Hannibal recognized from the photographs. The second – a young woman several years older than the former - was standing to the side, her white patterned dress coated heavily with blood. She was watching the scene unfold with a glazed expression. She seemed to be in shock. He hesitated a moment, taking in this new information. He hadn't planned on anyone else being present at the Hobbs resident. He stepped forward, moving around the island in the middle of the kitchen to firmly place his hand around the neck of the girl choking on the floor. He cradled her head with his free hand, glancing up at Will as he scuttled away looking quite shaken._

_He knelt there, waiting patiently for the paramedics to arrive. He glanced up at the girl across the room from him as she proceeded to take deep breaths. The tattoos covering her arms and neck, along with the Mohawk she was wearing in a long French braid down her back, the hoop through her septum, and the stud in her labret, painted a peculiar image with the pinup style dress she was wearing. She finally opened her eyes, looking about the room with that same dazed look. She fixed her gaze on him momentarily before pulling up a chair to lean against. Hannibal watched, his curiosity growing, as she unfastened her white heels and abandoned them by the chair. All the while she was muttering to herself about her dress, even managing to make fun of the fact that she was covered in blood [something he obviously took note of]. She rubbed her temples, smearing blood in the wake of her fingertips. He forced down a wave of excitement at the sight of it, fighting the thought to find it so visually pleasing. Nearly a minute passed as she anxiously stared down at the girl choking on the floor. He watched the way she curled and uncurled her toes against the tile floor instead. The tattoo across both of her feet – the grinning Cheshire cat – had his immediate attention. He gazed for several seconds at the elegant calligraphy that accompanied the image: "We're all mad here." _

_She finally made her way over to him [to the girl, rather, as she obviously knew her]. She made a face as she walked through the pooling blood, but she seemed to get past the feel of it. To his surprise, she sat right down on her knees beside him, easing herself more comfortably onto the floor. She smiled at the girl gasping for air, taking up her hand and squeezing it gently. It would be important to know who she was, should need arise in the future. At least that was how he reasoned asking for her name._

"_Who are you?" he asked abruptly._

_She looked up at him, apparently surprised that he was addressing her. Her eyes were an interesting shade of blue and green. In this lighting they shone like aquamarine. As they passed over him, he saw in them a more innocent curiosity than he knew to be behind his line of questioning. Once she met his gaze, she inhaled sharply and looked away. Her cheeks had a natural flush to them, but the scarlet in her ears gave away her blush._

"_Keeran Lovett," was the only response she gave._

_Hannibal waited patiently for her to say something more. She set her jaw. Clearly she was not going to be more forthcoming than that with any information. He almost laughed aloud at her gall._

"_And what were you doing here?" he pressed instead, biting back the urge to add that she clearly didn't belong there._

"_My grandmother is a friend of the family," she replied. "She lives right down the street. She asked me to return some Pyrex dishes to Mrs. Hobbs. I dropped them, obviously. That's why there's glass all over the front porch." She made a vague gesture to the front porch, looking down at herself. Mrs. Hobbs must have staggered into her. She looked back to the frightened girl, forcing a smile. "Christ, she'll have a heart attack if she sees us like this, won't she?"_

_Hannibal looked over to check on Will. For half a second he had almost forgotten he was there. He was huddled against the cabinet doors, quivering slightly as he stared around at all the blood [some of which had managed to splatter onto his glasses]. He could practically see his fragile state of mind beginning to crack. One simple action may prove to yield far more interesting results than he could have ever imagined. He glanced down to adjust his hand and then up to Keeran. She was watching the movement, a thoughtful expression settled on her face. After several moments of silence, she finally drew her eyes up to his. Seeing that he was watching, she averted her gaze to his lips instead. He smiled slightly, unable to entirely hide his amusement._

"_I'm sorry ahead of time if this sounds rude, but do you mind my asking who you are?" she asked hesitantly._

_His lips twitched. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter. William Graham is working with the FBI."_

_He nodded to Will, who gave no sign that he had heard the conversation. She nodded in response to signify that she understood and they fell silent. The sound of humming distracted him once more, drawing his gaze back to Keeran. Her thumb was tracing circles across the back of her young friend's hand in a soothing motion. Her eyes were closed, head lolling back carelessly as she hummed and rocked to the rhythm. Hannibal's eyes inadvertently traced the shape of her trachea, following it down to the supple curve of her collarbone. The sinuous musculature of her neck as she tilted her head lazily to the side was inexplicably enticing. He tightened his grip on the young girl's throat, struggling for a split second with the urge to release her and snatch up this strange creature seated beside him. The brilliant red covering her arms, chest, and face stood out in sharp contrast against her pale porcelain complexion, against her dark hair. A number of pleasing images flashed through his mind. Perhaps what surprised him most was that they didn't all include her cold corpse. Rather, one in particular required a very warm, very live touch. _

_The arrival of the paramedics saved him from having to explore that explicit thought any further. Keeran swiftly moved out of the way, muttering an apology for being in the way. His watchful eyes followed her movement as she stooped to pick up her shoes and press herself into obscurity, lingering momentarily on the bloody footprints she left in her wake. He took a deep breath to recollect his thoughts and explain the situation to the slue of paramedics working to patch up the girl on the spot. He followed the stretcher out, taking a moment to carefully clean his hands. He searched the chaos to find her. His eyes settled upon her almost immediately as she awkwardly shuffled across the front porch. She was pressing herself against the wall, gaze cast toward the ceiling to avoid looking at the body of Mrs. Hobbs as she fumbled over the hunks of Pyrex. The way her knees shook like a fawn taking its first steps stirred something in his stomach – a not altogether unpleasant feeling, at that. He watched a moment longer, a predator observing its prey. Hannibal crossed the lawn to take her hand and help her cross. She blinked, looking down at the hand he was holding out to her with a confused frown. She shook her head, rousing herself from her presumably dark thoughts and muttered her thanks. She carefully slipped her fingers into his grasp. The touch, however slight, was overtly exciting. Her skin was warm, slick with blood that had yet to dry. He watched her hop across the porch in just a couple of easy steps, watched the way her calf muscles flexed as she moved. He focused on her face for a moment. Her expression remained relatively passive, though her brow was furrowed in thought. He could easily imagine what it was she was thinking about, though her body language, constantly changing, didn't necessarily belie her emotions. He felt a flicker of annoyance. She wasn't an easy read. The fluidity of her person was going to keep him on his toes._

_Her eyes darted over to meet his, surprised to see him gauging her so intensely. Now that she was safely on the sidewalk, he released her hand. She immediately averted her attention elsewhere. He watched the red creeping slowly up the side of her neck to her ears again. He smiled to himself, a small token of satisfaction. He joined the paramedics in the back of the ambulance, giving Keeran one last look. She may be of interest yet._

* * *

I sat up straight, wringing my hands in my lap. I could feel the grime – the blood – on them, on my dress, the way it clung to my body, made my shoes stick to my feet. The metallic scent of it had faded; or maybe I had adjusted to it. I lost track of how long we had been flying. It felt like hours. I didn't have a watch, so I had no idea what time it was. By the time we were landing the sun was creeping dangerously close to the horizon. I watched the clusters of buildings rising up to meet us. Once we touched down, I was led inside one of the many buildings. I felt more tired than ever. He opened the door for me and I slid out onto the pavement feeling more tired than ever. My head felt cottony and my eyelids were heavy. I felt like caving in on myself. Instead, I sucked it up and followed him in silence. I kept my eyes on my feet. I knew how horrific I must look. I didn't need the curious gazes of everyone we passed to tell me. I followed along impatiently down the dark marble halls until he seemingly found who he was looking for.

"Hey Miss Katz," he finally said. "Have you spoken with Mr. Crawford?"

I glanced around him at the woman he was speaking to. She was tall, probably only an inch or two shorter than me. Despite my obviously disheveled state, she offered me a genuinely warm smile.

"He called ahead to let me know you'd be coming," she replied. "Go on, I can handle it from here." She passed him by to usher me down the hallway. "What a shame… It's such a lovely dress!"

I laughed lightly. "Tell me about it…"

I let her take me down to a sanitary room where she explained she would be swabbing my skin and taking samples from under my nails. I pasted on a smile and tried to imagine that I was elsewhere, as I had been doing for a while now. The pace was grueling. The ticking of the clock on the wall grew increasingly louder with each passing hour. I just closed my eyes and tried to keep humming to myself. When it was all over, she took me to a facility shower to get cleaned up. I stood under the scalding water, my body shaking as I watched the red swirl around my feet until the water started to run cold. A pair of sweatpants, socks, underwear, a sweatshirt, and even a pair of crocs was waiting for me when I got out. Thankfully my strapless bra had been salvageable. I was grateful for small favors at the moment. The sweatshirt and sweatpants were a little big, but they'd do just fine. I wasn't complaining. Anything that wasn't sticking to me and covered in blood was a step up. They stuck me in a cold, empty room at a metal table in a metal chair with nothing but a cup of coffee. I was starting to feel like a criminal rather than someone who had just witnessed a very horrific and traumatizing murder.

I sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of my nose. My migraine had only gotten worse in the hours since I had arrived. I suspected the harsh fluorescent lighting had something to do with it. I wasn't even sure what time it was anymore. I got the feeling that I was in some kind of underground government facility, hidden away from all daylight [though I was really almost positive that wasn't the case… almost]. Perhaps it was the stress of the situation grating on my nerves, but I was starting to feel like I was about to have a nervous breakdown. I stood up, coffee cup in hand, to pace the length of the room. I avoided looking at any of the mirrors, assuming they were two-way glass. I felt like they were watching me, scrutinizing me like a slide under a microscope. I didn't know why. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible. I growled quietly and knocked on one of the mirrors.

"Can we get a move on?" I said loudly. "I'd really like to go home if you don't mind."

I had returned to pacing the room a few minutes later by the time Jack Crawford opened the door to join me. He smiled tensely and gestured for me to sit. I closed my eyes for a moment and sighed impatiently before doing as he requested. I didn't much feel like sitting. I pictured myself for a moment running through the woods along a familiar path, chest heaving, before the idea that I was being chased rather than enjoying myself startled me out of it. He sat down across the table from me, watching me wrap my arms around myself, rocking back and forth. I could feel him watching me, that is, but I didn't much care. My own comfort mattered more to me than whether or not this man thought I was insane. I stared blankly down at the table with tired eyes; eyes that struggled not to relive my afternoon over and over and over again.

"Are you all right Miss Lovett?" he asked quietly.

I looked up at him curiously, snapping out of my reverie. I was crying. When had I started? I sniffled and quickly wiped my face, pressing my palms against my eyes for a couple of seconds to collect myself. I nodded vigorously.

"I'm fine," I croaked. "Slightly scarred for life, I think, but I'll make it. Mostly my mind is just…" I dropped my hands onto the table and looked up at him. He finally looked empathetic, if only a little. I shook my head. "It's tired of fighting for today. It wants to sleep it off and I'm becoming more and more inclined to allow it."

He nodded, shuffling papers in a folder he had brought with him. "I just have a couple of questions for you and then you'll be free to go."

I nodded, rubbing my temples. "Fire away, Mr. Crawford."

"What is your affiliation with the Hobbs family?"

I leaned back in my chair, sighing heavily. "I spent one summer babysitting for them when I was… thirteen? Fourteen? I'm not sure. It was a long time ago. Until today, I hadn't seen them since then."

"Which begs the question… Why were you at the Hobbs residence today?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "I was returning some dishes to the Missus for my grandma. I don't live in the area. She doesn't really have any family here. Mrs. Hobbs… she sort of… made her feel welcome."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I saw her corpse in my lap. I immediately opened my eyes again, blinking the image away.

"Did Mr. Hobbs ever display any… strange behavior?"

I rubbed my forehead again and leaned on the table. I shook my head slowly. "No, not that I can think of. Like I said, I haven't seen the family in over ten years. That's a lot of time for something to change. Abigail was just a little girl then. Mr. Hobbs… He seemed like a good father. I never had reason to believe that he…" I paused, trying to wrap my head around this, around the words. _That he would murder anyone_. I looked up at Mr. Crawford. "I'm not sure what happened to Mr. Hobbs, but I can tell you that the man I saw in that house today…. That's not the man I remember. That look on his face was… mad… animalistic… I've never seen anything like it. You never expect to see that look on the face of someone you know…"

He was quiet for several seconds. I heard him breathe in deeply before he spoke again. "I have to ask, Miss Lovett… Why were you covered in Mrs. Hobbs' blood?"

I flinched, hugging myself a little tighter. The gesture didn't really bring me any warmth. It was a bit of empty consolation, but I'd take a hug where I could get one right now. I shook my head and let out a strained, high-pitched laugh. "When the front door opened, I thought maybe my grandma had-had called ahead… or that maybe someone was just on the way out… And then there was Mrs. Hobbs, staggering toward me, blood everywhere. I've never… I mean that is the exact reason I did not become a nurse. I'm not good under pressure. I-I tried to stop the bleeding; I pressed my hands over the side of her neck but i-it was just shooting everywhere in time with her fucking heart beat and then…" I took a deep breath, struggling to regain my senses. I didn't remember standing up, but I slowly sank back into my seat. "She stopped moving… and I just held her for a moment." I looked up at Jack Crawford, wiping my face dry. "Is that what you want to hear? That I held her in my arms while she died and I didn't know how to help her?" He shifted uncomfortably, eyes looking anywhere but at me. I glanced around the room, wondering which mirrors had people on the other side. "When can I go home?"

He sighed, that grim smile taught on his face once more. He tapped his file against the table and stood, heading toward the door. "We've just got a few calls to make and you'll be free to go. Thank you for being so patient. I know this hasn't been easy."

I nodded and watched him leave the room. I shook my head and sighed heavily, slumping forward onto the table to rest my eyes for a while. I had anticipated that I would still be seeing the gruesome scenes of the day every time I closed my eyes, but somehow it still didn't really prepare me for it. After a couple of minutes I gave up and just stared at the wall instead. It was easier to ignore the images that way. Mr. Crawford returned shortly. I couldn't quite tell if he looked pleased or not, but I didn't much care at the moment. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

"All right, Miss Lovett," he said slowly. "You're free to go. I'll have someone show you out. We've had your car brought to the facility. After speaking with your grandmother, I assumed you might want to cut your visit short. We're only a few hours from your home now."

He offered me one last smile, though there was a tenseness behind it that made me worry. I nodded, pushing away from the table to stand.

"Do you by chance know where they've taken Abigail?"

He raised his eyebrows and rubbed his forehead anxiously. Clearly he was a man under a lot of stress. I could understand. A job like this couldn't be easy. It must take its toll. He needed to work on his people skills, nonetheless.

"They've moved her to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore."

I sighed in frustration and combed my fingers through my hair. "That's… excellent; really great. Any particular reason the hospitals in Minnesota weren't good enough?" I narrowed my eyes. "You want her close to keep an eye on her?"

His jaw clenched and he stood up a little straighter. He wasn't going to answer any of my questions. "Your car is waiting."


	3. Chapter 3

**I hope everyone is enjoying so far. Sorry, I've been vacationing so there has been a lag in my posting. I'm working on updating some of my other stories, but this is already written ahead and easy to post! So full speed ahead. :3**

* * *

He showed me out of the room without another word, where a young man took the initiative to lead me down the maze of hallways to the nearest exit. He showed me to my car and gave me my keys. I thanked him and listened intently to the directions he was giving me on how to get back to the highway. He left me to it then, heading toward a different building than the one we had just left. I dug through my trunk for different clothes. I'd need to stop somewhere for gas anyway. I sat for a long while doing little more than quivering and staring at the buildings around me. I felt so small and insignificant, and that settled into my bones like the cold of a North Dakota winter. I sighed and rubbed my sore eyes, willing myself to move. I pulled a slouch knit hat down over my ears and pulled off the lot. The highway was easy enough to get to. I made a quick stop to change and put gas in my car before heading on. I felt much better being in my own clothes – a soft v-neck tee, my favorite skinny jeans, and black high tops. I turned up my music, struggling with my thoughts as I drove. I didn't pay attention to what was playing. The bass and the rhythm pulsating through my body were comforting enough without focus on the words. I hardly remembered the drive the hospital [something I supposed was probably not actually very good at all]. I sat clutching the steering wheel for the duration of several songs. My eyelids were feeling heavy again. I was starting to feel like I wasn't all there. I rubbed my eyes. If I could erase this day from my memory I'd highly consider it.

I turned up the volume on my radio, took a deep breath and screamed at the top of my lungs until my voice gave out. I hid my face in my hands, trying to catch my breath. I leaned back against my seat, gasping for air. My chest was aching, tears involuntarily springing to my eyes. I swore loudly to myself, reaching my arms up over my head to place my palms on the ceiling. I couldn't even think of who to call with a situation like this. I suppose it was going to come sooner or later, so it was probably best that it came now before I was in a hospital full of people that would interrogate me and make it worse. My hands were starting to go numb and my head was spinning. I opened my eyes again and jumped. I hadn't heard the sound of tapping on my window over the sound of Linkin Park. I fumbled for the volume control, dragging my free hand down my face. I blinked hard, forcing my eyes to focus as I rolled my window down. Dr. Lecter was leaning on the frame of my car, a slight crease of concern on his usually expressionless face. How he had known I was here, let alone what kind of car I drove, was beyond me. These were thoughts that didn't really stick much at the moment. I just shook my head and leaned my back against the seat again, pushing my palms harder into my eyes, my fingers tingling in time with my pulse. I felt like I was going to pass out. He opened my door and leaned across me to turn my car off, taking the keys out of the ignition to place them in one of the cup holders. He carefully pushed my hands away and held my face in his hands. I saw his lips moving, but I couldn't hear what he was saying over the rushing in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds and tried to pay attention.

"Keeran, can you hear me?" he repeated calmly.

I pressed my hands to my chest. My heart was beating so hard I thought it might burst. I gave one quick nod.

"You are having an anxiety attack," he continued. "I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?" I nodded once more. "Look at me." I reluctantly opened my eyes. His gaze was steady and collected, though still as intense as ever. I looked to his lips instead. I recalled his hands on my face and forced my attention there. They were warm, his grip firm. The feeling was somewhat soothing, grounding. "What you are feeling is completely normal. You witnessed a terrible crime today against a family you have known since adolescence. This sense of immediate danger, it will pass. Remind yourself: you are safe. What I need for you to do is try to take deep breaths – in through your nose and out through your mouth."

I complied with his request to the best of my ability. My head still felt like it was about to float right off my shoulders. My mind blanked for half a second, jolting back to life with a gasp. My whole body jerked involuntarily. I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts, reaching up to touch my face. I found instead that Dr. Lecter was still holding my face in his hands. He offered me a small smile.

"Feeling better?" he asked. Now was hardly the time for teasing, but I appreciated the humor. I nodded slowly. I opened my mouth to ask what had happened, but he was quicker. "You fainted," he continued. "Only for a few seconds, but that's all the jump starting your brain needed."

He released me from his grip and held a hand out to help me stand. I shoved my keys into my pocket and grabbed my olive green jacket out of the back seat before taking said hand. The ground swayed beneath my feet. I caught myself on my car, instinctively squeezing his fingers. He waited patiently for me to gain my footing and my senses. I took a deep breath and shut the door, carefully releasing his hand.

"Thank you," I said quietly while I wriggled my arms into the sleeves of my coat. I focused on my feet as I took small steps toward the door. He took my left arm, linking it with his right, and held it firmly. The motion steadied my shaky steps. I blushed and nodded a second round of thanks. "Are you a psychiatrist?"

He gave me another mildly curious look. "Why do you ask?"

I shrugged. "I just wondered… You introduced yourself as Dr. Lecter and you kind of talk like one, so… just curious is all."

He smiled faintly. "You are very perceptive."

I shrugged. "I guess so. I just pay attention…"

I was grateful he didn't point out the obvious - did I know what a psychiatrist sounded like because I had seen one? The answer being yes, I appreciated being spared the indignity of being asked why (though he didn't seem like the type). I stared at the white linoleum beneath my feet as he led me down the halls to the nearest elevator. It was something other than the warmth of his body to focus on, so I was grateful for a distraction. I didn't get a lot of close physical contact from people – particularly not attractive older gentlemen [or gentlemen at all, really]. Getting so much all at once whether in a romantic sense or not was more than enough to overwhelm my senses. My palms were starting to sweat, though that may partially be attributed to my nervousness. I watched him push the button for floor 6 and closed my eyes for a few seconds. I was starting to shake again.

"How is she?" I whispered.

There was a long pause. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. It hadn't occurred to me that Abigail might not have made it. Where else would he be taking me if she hadn't? Seeing that he had alarmed me, he quickly replied.

"She is alive," Dr. Lecter said carefully. I sensed a "but" coming. He glanced down at the floor, almost in shame, before meeting my gaze. "Abigail is in a coma... Indefinitely."

The elevator dinged loudly and the doors slid open. I breathed out heavily and gave a dry laugh. At least she was alive. It could have easily been a very different story. They'd had to intubate. There was gauze dressing wrapped around her neck, hiding the mended wound to the side of her throat. In the hospital lighting especially she looked sickly pale. I shouldn't have been surprised. She'd lost a lot of blood. She looked so fragile and weak, lying there all by herself. When I stepped forward, Dr. Lecter let me proceed alone. My eyebrows knit together as I stared down at her for a long while, listening to the calm rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor. I touched her hand, part of me half expecting her to stir. I sighed and pulled a chair over to make myself comfortable at her bedside. I wiped at the corners of my eyes and took a seat in the reclining chair. It wasn't very comfortable, but it was better than nothing. Once I had settled in, I took up her hand and finally allowed myself to relax. I stared up at the ceiling drowsily, listening to the sound of Dr. Lecter pulling up another chair on the opposite side of the bed. I propped my feet up the footrest and closed my eyes. Now that I knew she was safe [at least relatively so] I felt the weight of the day's events starting to cave in on me. Now seemed like as good a time as any to catch some sleep. I'd stay here with her as long as they'd let me.

* * *

I woke up gasping for air. I sat up straight, looking around in a daze. I was having a nightmare, but now that I was awake it was fading fast. The last thing I remembered clearly was standing in the middle of a field screaming as it rained blood. My right hand fluttered across my body, patting my clothes to make sure I was dry. I sighed and dragged my hand down my face, collapsing against the back of my chair. It was darker outside than when I had arrived. I wondered how long I'd been out.

"You sleep with your eyes open. Did you know?"

I jumped at the sound of Dr. Lecter's voice. I hadn't noticed him still seated in his chair. He was watching me with the same calm, smooth expression. It annoyed me that I could never tell what he was thinking. I rubbed my eyes and stretched, letting out a quiet squeak.

"Yeah, I've been told I do on occasion," I muttered. "Sorry… I know it's kinda creepy. It comes and goes."

I got up and turned away to stretch some more so he wouldn't see me blushing, though he seemed utterly unfazed by my peculiar sleeping habits. I held my face in my hands and paced a few steps back and forth for a minute. I was still exhausted. It didn't feel like I had regained any sort of energy from my time asleep. I turned back to face Dr. Lecter, covering my mouth to my yawn. He was still watching me – quite openly, as a matter of fact. It was a little disengaging. Most people tried to hide it when they were inspecting someone. I wondered if he had grown up somewhere else [somewhere people didn't find this unusual?] or if perhaps it was just one of his quirks. It made me feel self-conscious. I looked down at my hands, suddenly interested in my fingernails.

"Do you know what time it is?" I asked calmly.

"It is almost eleven o'clock," he replied after a brief pause, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I looked up at him sharply. He had looked away from his watch and was gazing back at me once more.

"Eleven o'clock? Oh my God, my grandma is gonna have a heart attack I meant to call her. Jesus…." I spun in a circle for a second trying to find my phone. I shook my head, laughing to myself. "You didn't bring anything in. Get it together… I need a phone book. I need to find a hotel. Christ I hope they're still checking people in if they don't have reservations. It would be silly drive all the way home just to come back tomorrow…" He had stood, presumably to bid me goodnight. I smiled tensely, shuffling with an awkward gait to the foot of the bed. "Sorry, didn't mean to… I was just trying to work things out aloud. Thank you for all of your help, Dr. Lecter. Also for... staying here with Abigail. I appreciate it and I think she would too."

He gave me the most genuine smile I had seen on his face yet. I wasn't sure yet what I found so charming about him. Right now I was doing my best not to stare too long at either his lips or into his eyes. I knew without a doubt that just one second and he would notice. It was a struggle.

"Please, call me Hannibal," he said, walking to meet me at the corner. "Are you going to be all right driving? Forgive me, but you seem a bit…" I glanced back up at him, arching an eyebrow. "… worn thin. I'd be more than happy to drive you."

I chewed my lip thoughtfully, looking down at my hands as I wrung them. I nodded hesitantly. My eyes were still burning, throbbing like my head was with my beating heart. I sighed and dragged my hands down my face one last time, wiping away all the worry [or at least trying to] before looking back up at him. I nodded again, this time more firmly.

"Okay," I muttered. "I just need a few minutes then to call around."

He nodded. "I don't mind. I only want to make sure you get home safely."

I smiled tensely, suspecting there may have been motives other than that behind it. I didn't linger on the thought. "Thank you…"

I asked one of the nurses for a phonebook and sat around making a few phone calls before deciding on a place. The Super 8 was decently priced and still checking people in, so it sounded like we were headed there. I handed him my key and crossed my arms over my chest. He led the way back to the elevators. I fought against the urge to let myself fall back asleep standing there under the fluorescent lights. I slipped into the passenger seat, something I hadn't done for a while. My music started playing when he started the engine. I turned it down, looking to him for permission.

"Do you mind the radio? I can keep it turned down."

He shook his head. "Not at all. It is your car, after all."

I smiled faintly and tilted the seat back a little, trying to force myself to relax. I listened to Circus Contraption quietly pumping out soft, whimsical tunes. I shook myself awake, realizing I hadn't told him where to go.

"Sorry," I muttered, looking down at my phone. "Ummm… Do you know where Stemmers Run Road is or should I get directions?"

"I can get you there," he replied simply.

I nodded, shifting my gaze out my window. We rode in silence for several minutes while I watched the street pass by, biting the end of my thumb in thought. He had to know more about what was going on than I did. The real question was would he tell me? Jack Crawford hadn't been very forthcoming. Dr. Lecter hadn't done much to prove he could offer much insight. Still, I had a thousand and one questions banging around inside my skull and my gut told me he would be at least willing to hear me out. As we sat at a stoplight, I glanced over at him. As soon as he noticed, he looked over to meet my gaze. I opened my mouth to say something, then growled and shut it again. I wasn't sure where to begin. I rubbed my temples, feeling frustrated.

"Light's green," I said quietly.

He pulled away, attention back on the road. I turned in my seat to face him fully, leaning my back against the door. He looked like he was still waiting for me to say whatever it was I had to say.

"I have a question," I started off cautiously.

"I may have an answer," he replied coyly. "We won't know until you ask."

I pursed my lips at the amused grin that flickered across his face. He didn't show emotion often, but when he did I had thusly noted it was often at someone else's expense. He was charismatic and he was a flatterer, so I doubted many people took much notice. The charming accent probably helped work a bit of magic as well. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and bit the end of my tongue for a few seconds before I spoke.

"I don't know if you're allowed to tell me. No one at the FBI really said anything about it and quite frankly I didn't really want to ask under the circumstances of my visit but… why were they coming for Mr. Hobbs?"

I heard him take a deep breath and exhale slowly. His grip on the steering wheel tightened momentarily before he relaxed, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing out. "How closely do you follow the news?"

I shrugged. "I mean I don't religiously watch it with my morning coffee, but I catch bits and pieces, find snippets on my sister's blog. Why?"

"Have you been following the Shrike case at all?"

I nodded slowly, my eyes going wide. I sat up straight, slapping my hand on the dashboard. "You're kidding me? Mr. Hobbs was…? No… What…?"

"That's what the FBI believe. That's what the evidence suggests."

My hands flew up to cover my mouth. Granted I didn't know a whole lot about the case, but I knew enough to know that it was pretty horrific [much more horrific than I cared to imagine a man whose house I had spent so much time in was capable of]. I suddenly wondered how long he had been at work. I was beginning to question every piece of meat he had ever cooked for me at every barbeque that summer. I slumped in my seat, falling into stunned silence. _Mr. Hobbs was a serial killer_. I repeated it to myself several times over, trying to absorb the idea. I nodded, staring down at my hands again as I played with my fingernails. I guess that just went to show that you never knew whom you could trust.


End file.
